


Something For Everyone: Day 3 of Peapod McHanzo Week!

by ShahHira



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, McHanzo Week, Mutual Pining, Peapod McHanzo Week, mccree and hanzo go shopping at costco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShahHira/pseuds/ShahHira
Summary: Jesse and Hanzo go shopping at Costco. I know it's late but this is Day 3: Laundry/Chores in General of Peapod McHanzo week. Enjoy!





	Something For Everyone: Day 3 of Peapod McHanzo Week!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AughtPunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AughtPunk/gifts).



> Heyo I know it's a few days late, but my bro and I went to Costco yesterday and I had Day 3 of Peapod McHanzo week's prompt in my head the entire time. It's Laundry/Chores in General and it's basically mchanzo at Costco. For those who don't know, Costco is like a giant warehouse store where you can buy oreos, but it's like in a fifty-pack box so you basically never go hungry when you shop there. I think it's similar to BJ's or Sam's Club.
> 
> Anyway, I posted on my tumblr (AmericanPendu if you wanna check it out!) whether I should write it or not and AughtPunk responded saying YES and that was all the motivation I needed so I wrote this in less than 24 hours, so if it's garbage at the end you know why lol. Also, I didn't plan on doing this, nor do I plan on doing the rest of the days but who knows! :O

“There you are! Five minutes in an’ already I thought you were a goner.”

A smile. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be getting lost on purpose? You are an awfully slow walker.”

“Aw, shucks. Now that’s ice cold.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes at the dramatic tone, and shoulders his way back to Jesse. It’s savagely cold, that is true, especially after a fierce snow storm that had blown across the East Coast, but the afternoon crowd in the Costco they are in bustles with energy and warm vibes after surviving the two-day onslaught of bad weather; it feels like a Christmas rush all over again, drowning the two as they walk through a constant buzz of chatter. Hanzo pushes their empty cart, completely in his element.

“Damn city folk,” Jesse grumbles as he’s almost run over by someone rushing towards the electronics section. Him, not so much.

“You have the list?” Hanzo asks, focused on the task at hand.

Jesse is slow to respond, sticking to Hanzo like glue. “Yeah, yeah, I have it…” He fishes out a thrice-bent index card, writing scribbled on both sides. “Here.”

“Oh, wait,” he says again, searching through his pocket, pulling out with another one. It is equally battered. “There’s more.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes at him. “Are you trying to give me a hard time?”

“Oh, partner, I haven’t even started,” he tips his hat, clucking his tongue. “‘Sides, we gotta keep our growing boys and girls and youngin’s nice an’ fed somehow.”

“So, what you are saying,” Hanzo pauses for dramatic effect, “is that this isn’t even your final form?”

He just barely dodges a twelve-pack box of thermal socks aimed at his face.

“Shut the fuck up, ya dirty memer.”

______

“And _I_ am saying move it over _there_ so that we have enough room in the second cart.”

“Oh _hell_ naw we ain’t putting that giant bucket of slop on top of my stuff.”

“It’s just cereal, it can withstand the pressure. And it is so much more geometrically sound if it just goes over here–”

“It’s _Lúcio’s_ cereal and it tastes delicious when it isn’t smushed under yer damn protein powder!”

Jesse freezes. Oh no, he just insulted his workout diet.

Suddenly, Hanzo smiles – far too tightly. “Alright then, we’ll leave the protein powder behind.”

Jesse knows better than to relax. And his instincts are proven right when Hanzo takes a step further into his space.

“We’ll just have to tell Zarya why we could afford to bring back all these non-essentials for the rest of the team: all except for her protein shakes that she drinks every morning and evening without fail.”

He shrugs, then goes back to the cart. “Of course, you will have to explain that to her, since it’s your cereal that is so important…”

Jesse surges forward, putting both hands over Hanzo’s own just as he is lifting the giant tub of protein powder out of the cart, stilling him mid-way. “On second thought,” he chuckles weakly, “I think you’re right. Just what in the hell am I thinkin’, it can’t turn out too bad, obviously…”

They lower it back into the cart together, right on top of the stack of cereal. The cardboard squeaks a little, but holds its shape. His hands are so warm; Jesse does not want to let go. But he does, and instead flashes him a nervous smile.

That smirk lingers on Hanzo’s face for just a little longer. Then, he straightens up, “Let’s keep going. By the time we cease arguing, the sun is going to set. I want to be out of here by then.” Hanzo tries to remain coolly indifferent, but Jesse can see the hint of a satisfied smile behind the guise of warming up his fingers.

Jesse lets out a slow indulgent sigh once Hanzo is out of earshot, leaning his elbow on their overflowing cart, watching his sturdy figure examine the products on the shelf above him. A familiar feeling twinges Jesse’s heart.

Jesse sees it happening before his eyes, but he purposely fails to dodge the giant forty-pack package of toilet paper being thrown straight at him, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Now we’re even.”

______

They make their rounds all over the store, following the mass of people. They pick up basic essentials: milk, eggs, bread, cleaning supplies, enough to sustain their ten-plus family for at least a week. The base of operations they’re at in southern New Jersey is relatively small to sufficiently house the amount of people that have answered the Recall so far. Thus, Winston has sent the two of them to resupply the base in anticipation for the big upcoming mission in Philadelphia that requires all hands on deck – and to lift their morale, Hanzo glances towards Jesse’s hunched form.

No surprise there, since they are in the refrigerated section. Hanzo reads the label on a packet of mystery meat, trying to decipher what it is.

“What do you think?”

A quiet voice intrudes his study. Jesse holds out something that has a picture of delicious-looking Indian food printed on the front.

“You think Satya will like this?” Jesse asks, strangely hesitant.

“Hm…” Upon closer inspection it is of the easy-to-make variety: dump it out onto a plate and microwave until uncomfortably hot. Satya would turn her nose up at it, in Hanzo’s estimate.

But he doesn’t tell Jesse this: he has a peculiar expression on his face, tight and worried. No – concern is more like it. That is odd. Satya had not asked for anything in particular.

“It is not vegetarian,” Hanzo starts. “That goes against her beliefs, if I recall correctly. Let’s see if we can find something else…”

They search the aisles dedicated to frozen foods, eventually deciding on three different cuisines: a spinach and cheese dish, a mushy chickpea curry-type dish, and something very potato-heavy.

Jesse looks a little more relieved than before. “Thanks, partner,” he says, expression pensive.

Hanzo tilts his head, watching Jesse carefully place the items at the very top of the cart: as if they were something precious. Something tugs at his heart, and he walks up.

“She will like it.”

Jesse jumps at the hand resting on his shoulder. He huffs, “Heh, she won’t like ‘em. Too tainted by American taste for her palate.”

So that’s what this is about: Satya missing her home. Hanzo gives him his best reassuring smile. “If anything, she will appreciate the trouble you went through, and your thoughtfulness.”

Jesse sighs once more, but the dark cloud around his head lifts just a little bit more. “I just want her to feel welcome, ya know?”

Hanzo knows. After all, Jesse had done the same thing for him when he first arrived in Overwatch.

“Okay, I don’t remember puttin’ that in there.”

Hanzo follows where Jesse’s finger points deep inside the cart. Distinct red packaging jumps out at them.

“Ah yes, I was doing some of my own… cultural explorations, if you will.”

Jesse digs it out and sputters when he reads the label.

“‘Swedish Fish?’” he exclaims.

“I thought Torbjorn might appreciate it.”

“You _tryin’_ to get yourself killed?”

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

That’s an obvious lie, but Jesse knows he has something up his sleeve.

“Well, I was thinking…”

Hanzo loops an arm around Jesse, tugging him close to whisper his prank into his ear even though there is no real reason to. Jesse is not afraid to say that he shamelessly giggles: at Hanzo’s breath tickling his neck, or imagining how red in the face Torbjorn would get once they put their plan into action… well, he just can’t say.

______

“Do ya think they’d like the chicken, the lamb, or the goat?”

“Jesse, you of all people should know best what they like.”

“Yeah, but Ana says some meats are harder to cook because of the time it takes to get them to tenderize or somethin’.”

“First of all, Ana hardly cooks...”

“Yeah, she meant it’s harder for Reinhardt to cook them for her.”

“Ah.”

“So…?”

“Chicken for ease of cooking, but goat for more flavor,” Hanzo settles the discussion once and for all.

Jesse pauses, then throws both types of meat in the cart anyway.

“Why did I even bother,” Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I mean, as long as it’s halal, it shouldn’t bother Fareeha or Ana none.”

“Let’s just… keep going, I guess.” Jesse can see him shaking his head in exasperation as he urges their loaded first cart forward, disappearing down a random aisle.

Jesse holds back, opting to take out the list and cross out what they have so far in the second cart. It serves to leave their index cards less cluttered, and a sense of accomplishment fills him as he crosses off the things they’ve gotten: oatmeal and fruit juices for Mei, Mountain Dew and an assortment of chips for Hana (she eats god-awful unhealthy things but at least she is fairly low-maintenance), new fancy oil for Zenyatta, bird seed for Bastion, and…

Jesse frowns in confusion. Cat food? He doesn’t remember putting that there.

“Hey Hanzo?” he asks once he’s back with a few boxes of tea. “Did you put this cat food in here by accident?”

Hanzo stills on the opposite side of the cart, mouth tight. He drops his gaze down to the tea, carefully lowering them into the cart, one by one, painstakingly slow.

Jesse attempts to lighten the mood, “Ya know, Winston’s gonna be pretty pissed when he sees that.”

Hanzo snorts at that, but still doesn’t speak. “Won’t help his opinion on humans very much when he thinks you can’t tell the difference between a gorilla and a cat.”

He’s thinking very hard, eyes flitting from side to side, some sort of calculation going on in his mind. The fact that he’s not even trying to hide his emotions in front of Jesse is both exhilarating and worrisome.

Finally, Hanzo sighs, breaks. “When we arrived at the base, there was this cat I saw, right outside the basement doors.”

Oh. “I wanted to… feed it some food, at least,” Hanzo explains, not meeting his eyes. “It’s… very cold outside. Of course, I will pay separately for the cat food. I’ll tell Winston to charge my card–”

“No, no, no,” Jesse cuts him off. He walks around the cart to grab his shoulders. “It’s absolutely fine. I’ll even help you sneak it in.”

At that, Hanzo’s head shoots up, taken aback. “You would?”

“Hell yeah, partner.” _Anything for you._ “Your secret is safe with me.”

They are silent for a moment. For a split second, Jesse irrationally fears that Hanzo might have heard that particular thought. “Perhaps we should get extra peanut butter should Winston find out. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Jesse agrees. “So we can bribe him like the Overwatch heroes we are.”

The punch on his arm is soft, followed by a forehead pressing into his chest. The chuckle rumbles deep inside him.

“A fool-proof plan.”

______

Hanzo is tired. Jesse is tired. Despite so much walking, both feel the cold climbing up their limbs.

They’ve been waiting on a rotisserie chicken to be cooked for quite some time now. Unfortunately, a throng of people has had the same idea – either that, or about nine-odd other people were too hungry to resist the wonderful smell that’s coming from the poultry section, because the crowd has only increased with every passing minute. At least it’s warm here.

Jesse yawns. “I don’t think Junkrat holds a certain standard for just… food in general.”

“He said he wanted one chicken.”

“Ya certain we heard the same thing?” Jesse nudges him for no reason. “To this day, no one knows whether he wanted a dead chicken or one that was still alive and kickin’ with feathers to boot.”

It was true: Hanzo did not know what to make of Junkrat bellowing ‘ONE CHICKEN!’ when he had asked if either of the Junkers needed anything from their shopping trip. Any specifications asked were met with the same result.

Roadhog, on the other hand, was as close-lipped as ever, but for his part he had pulled out a neat, well-worn notebook that contained a list of vegetables ranging from Portobello mushrooms, cauliflower, eggplant, and much more.

They had already collected Roadhog’s items, and now are waiting with no end in sight. Hanzo shifts on his feet. Someone moves through the crowd, jostling Hanzo.

Even though they cannot see him Hanzo scowls at their rudeness, mainly for his own benefit – and then feels a slight bump on his side. He turns to see Jesse, who looks dead on his feet, resting his head on Hanzo’s shoulder, body instinctively moving towards the heat source huddled under him.

Hanzo stiffens for a moment. Then, making sure not to overthink too much, burrows even closer into Jesse. The warmth is welcome, and if it comes to it, he can blame the crowd getting denser for their close proximity. It has been a hectic day in its own right; he deserves to indulge, doesn’t he?

Jesse must think the same, if the arm around his waist is anything to go by. “If you move, there’s gonna be nothing stopping me from fallin’ face-flat on the floor.”

His eyes are closed, Hanzo notes, but he is smiling so hard that he feels it through three layers of clothing. “I would like nothing more than to see that happen,” he says, but his words belie how he mirrors his pose, snaking an arm around Jesse and pulling tight.

For now, however, he is truly warm.

______

“So,” Jesse smirks wickedly, “whose should we use?” He pulls out three plastic cards. “Winston, Lúcio, or Hana’s bank account?”

“You sound like a common thief who just successfully pulled off his first robbery.”

“And I’m dyin’ to use the money I stole from those rich bastards so I can never go hungry again.” He waves them again. “Which one?”

“Mine.”

“…Beg pardon?” Jesse blinks.

“We’re using my card.”

“Wha’… Hanzo, you don’t have to do that–”

Hanzo holds up a hand, suddenly growing serious. “But I want to. As its heir, I have access to the Shimada clan’s multiple bank accounts. There is more than enough money to support us for some time.”

“But…” He can tell he’s floundering for a reason to refuse this generous offer. “What if it gets traced?”

“They are securely protected. I made sure of that shortly after I left the clan, and I cleared it with Winston. There is no need to worry.”

Jesse seems unconvinced – or worried, he can’t tell. Maybe both. Still, he trusts him, and that is reassuring.

“I want to help the organization that has helped me,” and it takes a moment for Jesse to realize that he is talking about Overwatch. And that he is staring right at Jesse, a meaningful look in his eyes.

Jesse grumbles, putting their items out onto the conveyor belt to shake off the wonderful tension in his throat. In the end, they’ve managed to fill almost three carts; their total is over a thousand dollars. The customers waiting behind them in the line are more than disgruntled.

A hand finds its way into Jesse’s back pocket – and it is most definitely not his, since he is carefully placing three boxes of shepard’s pie on the conveyor belt.

And no, Jesse most definitely does _not_ squeak.

“Morrison has a Costco membership?” is the only thing Hanzo asks, brow furrowed. He’s examining the card, colored in executive gold and black. “‘A distinguished member for fifteen years.’”

Jesse gawks, too, then goes slack-jawed. There is an absurd amount of real, identifiable information on the card; his name and signature are there, and the picture is dated but it’s definitely him. It’s a miracle Jack hasn’t been found.

“Fascinating,” Hanzo remarks.

“I’ll be,” Jesse drawls.

“We should…” Hanzo finds a way to say this diplomatically. “Let Winston know. So he can wipe him from the store database.”

“Right. And then when he’s done with that we can knock some sense into Jack together. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

______

“Go long!”

Jesse hurls the five-pack of bagels to Hanzo, who apparently has no choice but to show off and kicks off the van for extra height, just in time to nab it out of the sky. Hanging by one hand off the top edge of the truck’s open trunk he lobs it in, legs kicking in the air.

“Up next: toothpaste!”

It’s even chillier outside than when they first set foot inside the wholesale store, but Hanzo had come up with the brilliant idea to warm up by taking turns throwing and catching the endless amount of supplies they’ve purchased; it’s going to take a good part of the hour anyway, so they might as well have fun with it. Despite their exhaustion, it combats the cold and gets their blood pumping.

Cars, pedestrians, runaway carts, and ice on all surfaces make their game quite treacherous, but it doesn’t matter because Hanzo himself is a force of nature: slick on his feet, graceful as all hell, too handsome for Jesse to handle…

He throws a small bottle of Angela's antacids too hard. Hanzo yells.

“Oh my god, Hanzo–!” Jesse stumbles to his side. “I’m so sorry!”

He’s clutching where the bottle hit him smack dab in the middle of his forehead. His face is pinched, but it’s more in aggravation than any sort of real pain. He grimaces.

“Lord, Hanzo, are you okay?” In the back of his mind, Jesse knows this is nothing; he’s had far more serious injuries in the heat of battle – they both have.

He hands him the keys. “You jus’ stay put in the truck, I’ll bring in the rest of the stuff.” But something’s different with Hanzo. He gets all worked up when the littlest things happen to him. It’s always been like that.

Lightning fast he loads up the rest of the supplies, returns their carts to the designated drop-off, and climbs in the driver’s seat, sighing in relief at the heat blasting through the vents.

Hanzo is resting his eyes, head wedged down into his crossed arms in an attempt to conserve whatever warmth he has. This particular truck doesn’t have a center console to separate the passenger and driver’s seats: it’s just one long row of a cheap leather bench. Jesse shuffles closer.

“You okay, Han?” The frigid cold is muted outside. Jesse keeps his voice low.

Hanzo grunts. “I think I lost a few brain cells thanks to your pitching arm, but other than that I am fine, yes. Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m real sorry, bud, honest.”

“Hush now, or you will kill off even more of my brain cells.”

It’s a poor attempt at humor but it gets them wheezing until they’re out of breath, leaning on each other for support. Hanzo is tired; he’s tired, he’s hungry, and he can’t muster up the energy to bat away the large, broad hand covering his forehead, soothing and warm.

“Alright, pumpkin. I hear ya.”

A thumb strokes down his temple, rubbing along the wrinkles of his forehead.

“…Now I want pumpkin pie.”

A long, unbroken groan. “Don’t make me go back in there.”

“But I made myself hungry.”

“Your fault.”

“Come on,” he whines childishly, which is when Hanzo knows he’s just doing this to rile him up.

“I am _not_ standing in line just to buy one thing,” he plays along.

“Then just break in and steal it with your ninja skills.”

“That’s illegal and unnecessary.”

“Jesse McCree don’ care about legality when he’s hungry.”

“Hm. You make a compelling argument.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow down at Hanzo, suspicious. Then, when Hanzo makes to get up and takes the wonderful heat along with him, he scrambles, “Uh, on second thought, I’m not that hungry.”

Snorting, Hanzo slides back into position, Jesse’s arms wind tightly around his middle. His cold nose nips delightfully against a sliver of Hanzo’s exposed skin. He feels something distinct in shape lightly press down, a murmur whispered into his collar. Hanzo smiles wide.

“I’d like that very much, as well.”

Jesse startles, takes in a deep breath. When he looks up, there’s hope in his eyes before it’s warily concealed. It comes back with a vengeance when Hanzo slides his fingers under his chin.

“May I?” he asks.

Jesse nods, mouth agape.

They kiss with chapped lips, then break off chuckling when someone bumps their cart against their truck, a panicked ‘sorry!’ somehow cutting through all the noise of the parking lot. They meet again for seconds, then lace their fingers together. To keep them warm, of course.

“We should get going,” Jesse says. The truck has been idling for ten minutes, and the team has been blowing up their phones for the past hour, demanding when they are going to be back.

But Hanzo doesn’t let go. His lips touch the back of Jesse’s hand, gripping even tighter. “Mmm, your hands are not warm enough. It’s dangerous to drive like that, you know.”

“Huh.” Jesse tucks his face right next to his ear, getting comfortable. “Five more minutes, then, would you say?”

“Of course.” Hanzo kisses his cheek, content.

There they lay, hoping shopping trips to come would be just as magical.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally grew up in a Costco so I liked writing this :D


End file.
